


And to All a Good Night

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Christmas, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Mention of Grace Hendricks, Mention of Jessica Ardnt, Very fluffy Christmas fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Harold exchange gifts on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And to All a Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> Set in early Season 2. Written before I had seen Episode 2.22 "God Mode," so probably not cannon compliant for Harold's injuries.

“Well, we seem to have wrapped that up quite nicely, and we don’t have a new number, so I suppose we get to take the holidays off. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow, Mr. Reese, I won’t be here.” Finch is tapping away at his computer, and Reese can't help but ask,

“Going out to do your Christmas shopping?”

“Curling up with a good book, more likely - crowded shopping malls are definitely not my thing.”

“No. I guess not." Reese paused, considering, and then spoke again, "Are you busy tomorrow evening?”

“On Christmas Eve? No, why?”

“I was wondering if you would like to come to my place, for dinner.”

Harold's face softened, and John Reese could see that he is genuinely touched by the invitation.

“That would be very nice. Thank you.” Harold Finch turned in his chair to look up at his friend and smile. “What time should I come over?”

“Around seven?”

“OK, I’ll see you then. Goodnight, Mr. Reese.”

“Goodnight Harold.”

~~~~~~~

“It’s open,” Reese called as the door buzzer sounded. “Sorry, I’ve got my hands full of Alfredo - drop your coat anywhere.”

Harold was grateful that John wasn’t standing there to watch him put the tastefully wrapped parcel he was carrying down on the sofa, and then struggle out of his overcoat. He wondered briefly if this was by design. John was always very careful about not paying any obvious attention to his physical limitations. He lay his coat down carefully on top of the package and headed for the kitchen.

“Hi, sorry for not coming to the door - I’m running a little late.”

“No rush, I’m probably a few minutes early anyway, it's a bad habit of mine. I’m glad to see I’m not under-dressed, at least.”

John was wearing a casual white cotton shirt with the top two buttons undone, as was his usual style, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and a pair of jet-black jeans. He also had a dishtowel slung over one shoulder as he juggled pots and pans. Harold was relieved that his careful choice of a burgundy raw silk shirt and a pair of black dress pants was in keeping with the tone of the evening.

“You look very nice," John said, looking up from his sauce. "I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without a tie.”

“Yes, well, I have been known to let my hair down occasionally."

"Not so far as to leave your collar unbuttoned, though," Reese teased gently.

Harold smiled a tight little smile and reached up to undo the offending top button. "It's partly habit, and partly camouflage. If I wore my shirt open the way you do, the scars on my neck would be visible, which would make me even more...distinctive than I already am. As you know, I prefer not to call more attention to myself than is strictly necessary. Is there anything I can do to help?" he said, changing the subject.

"You can pour the wine - it's on the table with the glasses, over there. I hope you like Bordeaux."

"Well, well, a St. Emillion 1982. You have expensive taste in wine, Mr. Reese."

"It's Christmas. And it's not like I have much to spend the salary you're paying me on. I have all the guns I need."

"I didn't know that was possible." 

"For now."

"Here we are." John put two plates on the table and then tossed the dishcloth onto the kitchen counter. He took the glass of wine Harold handed him, and sat down, gesturing for his guest to do the same.

"This looks just wonderful. Thank you for inviting me."

"You should wait until you've tasted it before you thank me." John gestured with his wine glass. "What should we drink to?"

Harold picked up his own glass and looked into John's eyes, then glanced shyly down for a moment before looking back up.

"How about friendship?"

John's face grew serious and his eyes a little brighter, "To friendship."

"To friendship." They clinked glasses and drank.

"Eat, please, eat."

Harold put a forkful in his mouth and chewed slowly.

"John, this is really very good. Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"When you've spent months living on MREs, you develop an appreciation for really good food. I taught myself - it was a way to pass the time between assignments, and something to do when I was stuck in a safe-house for weeks."

"My own cooking is much more utilitarian, I'm afraid. My teacher would be disappointed."

"Oh, who taught you, Grace?"

"No, it was a very nice young physiotherapist named Julie. She called it Occupational Therapy. I tried to explain to her that I was a computer programmer, and therefore didn't need to practice anything but typing, but she was absolutely convinced that beating cake batter was an efficient way to build muscle tone. 'And besides,' she would say, 'this way you'll leave here with a new skill.'"

"That reminds me of a physiotherapist I had once at Bethesda..." and John was off with a story of his own. They ate slowly and companionably, swapping stories of the various medical professionals they had dealt with.

~~~~~~~

"...so then the Sergeant said 'I don't care if you have three broken legs, you're still on report!'"

Harold laughed, then drained the last of his glass of wine and sat back in his chair.

"Thank you, John, for the excellent meal and a most pleasant evening."

"There's desert..." 

"Right now I couldn't eat another thing - maybe later?"

"Sure, it will keep. Here, let me just clear these."

"Can I help?"

"No, I've got it, I'm just going to put them in the sink. Why don't you go sit on the couch - it's more comfortable." 

"You noticed," Harold said, standing up and putting a hand up to massage the back of his neck.

"There's not much I miss. How bad is it?"

"Right now or generally?" 

"Either, both."

"Generally, it's just uncomfortable, a nagging set of aches and pains that I've learned to live with, most of the time. Right now my left shoulder has tightened up a little more than usual - it doesn't like the cold and damp very much. It's more frustrating than painful, loosing some of the mobility on my bad side. But I'll stay here if you don't mind, the straight chair is actually more comfortable for me than the sofa. I will however, use your facilities for a moment," Harold said, standing up.

"You know where they are. Would some cognac help?" John asked, walking into the living room with a bottle and two glasses.

"It certainly wouldn't hurt. Just a small one, though, please. My tolerance for alcohol has never been high, and you don't want me passing out on your couch."

"I wouldn't mind," John said quietly to Finch's back.

With a glance towards the closed bathroom door, he retrieved a parcel wrapped in tasteful Christmas paper from a drawer and put it on the table at Harold's place. He was pouring a small measure of cognac into each of two balloon glasses, and setting them on the table when Harold returned from the bathroom. Harold stopped in front of the table and looked at the wrapped gift.

"What's this?"

"Your cognac, and your Christmas present."

"You didn't have to do that." Harold said, but looked up at John with a small, childlike happy smile.

"I know. I wanted to. Go ahead, open it."

John took a sip of his cognac while Harold meticulously opened the wrapping paper and put it aside on the table, then turned the volume over in his hands to read the title,

"A first edition of 'The Sun Also Rises'... I don't know what to say."

"I noticed that you had first editions of all of Hemingway's other novels, but you were missing this one."

"Yes, that's because it's impossible to find - there were only 5000 printed. How did you - no, don't tell me, I don't want to know."

"Don't worry, Harold, I bought it from a legitimate source."

"Thank you John, it's a very thoughtful, not to mention expensive gift. Yours is over on the sofa, under my coat, if you wouldn't mind." Harold put the book down carefully on its wrapping paper on the table, and picked up his drink while Reese crossed to the sofa and found the parcel under Finch's coat. He hastily took a swallow, and then put the glass back on the table as John turned around and came back to the table with the parcel in his hand.

John stopped and stared at Harold for a minute before speaking, "Thank you." His voice was soft, almost tender, and Harold smiled.

"Well, open it first."

John looked at Harold for a minute more before opening the gift to reveal an elegant boxed chess set. 

"It's beautiful," He said, running his fingers lightly over the inlaid wooden board, "Persian?"

"Yes, 17th century. I wasn't sure if you already had one."

"I don't." John had opened the box, picked up one of the pieces and was holding it up to the light to see the intricate carving on the knight, who was mounted on an elephant. He put the piece back carefully, closed the box, and set it down on the table.

"You'll have to come over sometime for a match."

"I'd like that very much."

"Thank you Harold."

"Merry Christmas, John."

"Merry Christmas."

"Oh, come here." Harold took a step towards John and put his arms out. John stepped forward and gathered his friend into a gentle embrace. They hugged for a moment, and then Harold gave a little squeeze and pulled back, but John didn't let go. Harold leaned back so that he could look up into John's blue eyes.

John raised his hand and laid it gently on Harold's cheek. He stroked Harold's cheek with his thumb, once. And again. Harold brought his hand up to cover John's, and then awkwardly turned his head to gently kiss his friend's palm. Harold kept John's hand pressed in his as he turned back and looked back up into John's eyes. John stroked his cheek one more time, and he could both see and feel Harold's body responding, giving him the courage to ask,

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes, if..."

"If what?"

"If you're sure it's what you want - but you wouldn't have asked if you weren't sure."

"No, I wouldn't have. I am sure. Are you?"

"Yes."

John slid his hand lower to cradle the side of Harold's neck, and bent his head down. Slowly, carefully, gently, he put his lips to Harold's. Harold responded just as gently and slowly, in a tentative first exploration of each other. John felt Harold trembling slightly in his arms, like the bird of his namesake, and his heart pounded with a mixture of fear, excitement, and anticipation. He began to kiss Harold more firmly, still gentle, but less tentatively, and with more passion. He slid his hand to the back of Harold's neck, and started slightly when he felt the blunt ends of metal pins under his skin.

Harold pulled back slightly and smiled at him.

"Don't worry, I won't break."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Believe me, between the adrenalin and the endorphins, right now you could probably stick a pin in me and I wouldn't feel it."

John smiled a big, warm happy smile that made Harold's heart leap to see. Then John thrust his fingers into Harold's hair, and began to kiss him in earnest. Harold responded with insistent lips and then with a hot probing tongue. John felt the first heat in his groin in response to the body pressed up against him, and fought an urge to moan. 

Harold put his free hand on John's chest to steady himself as their kissing became more passionate and intense. His fingers encountered not the fabric of John's shirt, but instead the skin of his throat. Harold stroked the warmth with the tips of his fingers and was rewarded with a stifled moan from John. He stroked again, and again, and then lower, his fingers coming to rest on the still-fastened third button. 

John pulled his mouth away for a moment and put his lips to Harold's ear to whisper,  
"Go ahead."

Harold undid the next button of John's shirt, and the next, down to the waistband and then slid his palm onto the broad chest. John gasped, and shifted the arm that was encircling Harold's back. It knocked Harold off balance and he stumbled.

John grabbed his arms, "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? Are you OK?"

"I'm fine. John, I'm fine, I just lost my balance - my bad leg doesn't hold my weight very well sometimes. I'm fine."

"Should we sit down, or..." John glanced over at the bed, and Harold followed his gaze. "Not that we'd necessarily have to..."

"We're both adults. We'll take this as fast or as slowly as we want to. To tell you the truth, I haven't been... intimate with anyone since I was injured, so I don't know exactly... some things might be... awkward." Harold started to pull back a little as he fumbled through this speech, but John gathered him in close, and laid a hand on his cheek again.

"We'll figure it out as we go along. We're pretty good at that."

"Yes, we are. I think the bed is a good idea. If I'm lying down, at least I can't fall down."

"OK, if you're sure."

"I seem to recall that I was the one undressing you, a couple of minutes ago."

"Good point - let's get back to that part... as soon as possible. You go get comfortable, I'll just lock up."

"Good idea," Finch said over his shoulder as he headed for the "bedroom" part of the loft apartment, "Could you turn my phone off, I left it on the table."

Reese, coming back quickly from locking the front door and turning off the lights in the kitchen, stopped by the table and picked up Harold's phone to turn it off. He put it back down on the table and took his own out of his pants pocket, did the same, and put it down. Then he headed over to the bed. His bed. His bed that Harold was sitting on, calmly taking off his shoes.

Reese walked over to the bed, turning out lights as he went until the only light was the glow from the city outside the big industrial windows of the loft. He stopped, pulled his zippo out of his pocket, and lit a trio of pillar candles that sat on a bedside table - he'd lived in too many places with unreliable electrical grids to not have multiple lighting backups, besides, this was kind of....

"Romantic," said Harold, from his seat on the edge of the bed. Reese quickly kicked off his shoes and stripped off his shirt, then climbed onto the bed and knelt behind Harold.

"I didn't plan this. Not really. I hoped that maybe..." John sighed, put his arms around Harold, and buried his face in the side of Harold's neck.

"It's OK, I understand. At least I think I do," he was quiet for a minute as he took off his socks, then asked, "When did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I felt... the way I do... about you."

"When you said 'yes' just now."

"But you must have had some idea..."

"There's not much I miss." John said simply. With his arms around Harold from behind, pressed up close against his back, he touched the buttons of Harold's shirt, "May I?"

"Yes." The word came out with a breath as John kissed the side of his neck again. John deftly undid the buttons and eased the shirt off Harold's shoulders.

"Tell me what I'm seeing?" it was a gentle request.

"Spinal fusion, C3 through C5 as you've no doubt guessed from the way I move, or rather, from the way I don't move."

"Impressive." John murmured, trailing a line of kisses along one of the scars.

"Hmmm... those are mostly the neat surgical scars. The really impressive ones are still covered up."

John gave him a squeeze, kissed the side of his neck again, and then moved around to the side, so that he could see, and touch Harold’s face, with a hand on his cheek, 

"Like you said - as fast or as slow as we want. I don't want anything more than you're ready to give, and I don't honestly know what I... I've never done this before - not for real, anyway."

"I'm not sure I want to ask what that means."

"I've played a lot of roles..." John trailed off and looked into Harold's eyes, "You know that I love you?"

"Yes. I do. And I love you, John. Come here." Harold hiked himself over and lay down on the bed. John looked at him for a moment, then lay down facing him and gathered Harold into his arms.

"I love you," he whispered again as he began to kiss Harold, gently, at first, on the mouth, and then his lips went back to their exploration of neck, then shoulders and torso. Harold was similarly exploring John's body, with light touches of his fingertips, running them over the skin of his neck and back, tracing a scar line here, a rope of muscle there. The light caresses were driving John wild, and from the soft noises Harold was making, he figured he was doing an equally good job. 

Harold's touches became surer, more insistent. Responding to his need, John gently pulled the man closer and kissed him deeply, tongue probing. Harold kissed him back with a strength that surprised him, and excited him even more. His cock was hard and straining uncomfortably in the confines of his jeans, and he could feel the bulge of Harold's erection as their hips moved against each other. 

Harold pulled away from the kiss and looked into John's eyes, breathing heavily for a moment before he spoke, "I think I'm ready to show you the rest of my scars."

"Yeah, me too."

Both men rolled onto their backs and began to unbutton.

"I've already seen yours, you know." Harold said into the silence.

"I know." John had stripped off his jeans and shorts in a couple of seconds and dropped them over the side of the bed. He rolled back onto his side, facing Harold who couldn't undress himself as quickly. "When I was shot, you assisted Dr. Madani. After he finished stitching me up, you took me to a safehouse. You put me to bed, took off what was left of my clothing, and then you carefully and gently washed the blood from my body. It felt nice. You put my gun on the nightstand where I would be able to reach it, and sat in a chair by the bed for the next six hours, watching over me."

"You were unconscious!" Harold said, somewhat indignant.

"I was in and out. I could have been more conscious if I needed to be, but I didn't. I was safe. You were there."

Harold had finished undressing and rolled onto his side to face John. There was a telltale glistening in the corners of his eyes, and it matched the pricking Harold could feel in his own eyes. John reached out a hand and laid it on Harold's hip, and then looked down and whistled a low whistle at what he saw. The large, scar-tissue covered gouge in the thigh where muscle had been completely destroyed was the most noticeable and most impressive of Harold's injuries, but in the dim light John could also see the network of scars running down to knee, and the mass of discoloured tissue at the ankle. 

"No wonder you limp," said John.

"Not too off-putting, I hope," was Harold's reply.

"I just don't want to hurt you. Is there anywhere I shouldn't touch, anything I shouldn't do?"

"Just go slow, and I'll be fine."

"OK." John started to stroke his hand up and down Harold's thigh, letting fingers trail up his back and then back down over small tight buttocks. Back up over the scars of the injured shoulder, and down the front this time, across chest and brushing groin. Harold made a low noise and pulled John down for a kiss. Their mouths met and this time there was less gentleness and more raw hunger. John carefully kept most of his weight off Harold's body, supporting himself on one powerful arm. He let Harold pull him closer, understanding the need for more contact as he continued to stroke Harold's back, butt, and thigh. Their erect cocks brushed against each other, making both men gasp and moan. Harold's free hand was in his hair, then raking down his back, then sliding gently up between them to stroke his hard cock. John moaned and moved his mouth away from Harold's, kissing, licking, and nipping at his neck and shoulder, and running his hand down the narrow back until it came to rest on a tight buttock. John squeezed with his broad hand and crushed their groins together. Harold moaned and pushed his butt back into John's hand, making it clear that he wanted more of that. John massaged the cheek he was holding, fingers moving rhythmically. Harold writhed beneath him, pushing his hips up to trap hard cocks between taught stomachs. 

Harold started to thrust with his hips, and gasped a question into John's ear,

"Is this... OK?"

"It's great," was the breathless answer and John used the hand on Harold's butt to pull him in tighter. They both gasped at the increased friction and Harold let out a moan that had John bucking against him. They fell into a rhythm of thrusts and gasps.

"I'm close..."

"I need..."

"Come on..."

"Yeah..."

"Oh, yes."

John tightened his arm even more and they strained in hot, tight, sweat-slick unison.

Harold's mouth opened to a round, almost surprised "Oh" as he came, and feeling the spasms and spurting against him sent John over the edge as well. John dropped his head to Harold's shoulder, but didn't move, didn't speak for long minutes, just breathing, until Harold asked, a note of concern in his voice,

"John? Are you OK?"

"Fine. Fine. Just need a minute..."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Good." John dragged in a long breath, then another, and then rolled over and off Harold, staying close, though, and reached out to lay one of his hands on Harold's thigh in silent reassurance.

"Sorry. It's been so long. I forgot how...intense it is for me, sometimes."

"Good intense, I hope?"

"Oh yeah." John rolled his head over to smile at Harold, who hitched himself up onto his side so that he could look at John. 

"It's been a long time for me too."

"Grace." It wasn't a question, just an affirmation.

"John, if something happens to me, and you..." Harold didn't want to say aloud, "and you somehow survive."

"I'll watch over her, protect her, you know I will."

"Yes. I do. Thank you."

"It helps, a little, knowing you would have saved Jessica if you could have."

"I'm glad." Harold reached out a hand and laid it easily against John's ribs, "Is it a little strange that we're lying here talking about..."

"Our exes? This wouldn't work if we couldn't."

"I suppose that's true." Harold paused, "We should probably get cleaned up."

"Probably."

"We could stay here for a bit longer first, though."

"C'mere" John said and pulled Harold to him, negotiating an arrangement of limbs with small movements until they were snuggled comfortably together.

"Merry Christmas Harold."

"Merry Christmas John."

 

__

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my beta-reader i_m_just_jay513.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at: [Queen of Wands](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


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